


Gonna be your Number One

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-15
Updated: 2008-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: <i>One of the boys is emo; the other brings him cookies.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Gonna be your Number One

If Matt sat down and thought about it and maybe did a few calculations, he would have to admit that he was instrumental in the dissolution of nearly... hmm, maybe 95% of Hurley's relationships. A few of his subversions were completely purposeful; most of them were quite accidental. He couldn't take credit for that one girl from UW-M, the one that _everybody_ had said was fucking awesome, but for some reason Andy had broken up with her on his own. Even Matt had liked her, which was a rarity. For most of them, though, Matt would say that he had _something_ to do with it.

It wasn't his fault that when he talked, Hurley usually listened. If Hurley said, "So, what do you think?" and Matt answered, "Oh, I don't know, she just kinda irks me, man," then really, could he be blamed if by the next week Andy was flying solo again? No; he could not be blamed at all. He just gave Andy his honest opinion and Andy happened to roll with it.

For real, it _wasn't his fault_ that while Hurley found it easy to fall into bed with someone, (oh god, so very easy) he didn't seem to have that much luck when it came to any long-term relationships.

"Except for Matt," Stu would say loudly whenever they all happened to be at breakfast. "You two are like an old married couple, seriously."

"True that," Kyle would invariably pipe up.

"No, we're not," Andy and Matt would answer in perfect sync and start bickering over some stupid, perfect shit and it was all simply fine.

Yeah, but the rest of it wasn't his fault, Matt would _swear_ on that.

*

"Dude, I'm telling you," Matt preached over the phone, peering into the fridge and making a haphazard shopping list on a nearby scrap of paper, "that Phillipa girl was just asking for too much."

"Hmm," was all Andy replied, the line crackling a little. Matt could hear a persistent, regular tapping and knew that Andy's hands, the left in particular, were making their unconscious patterns on some surface. "Maybe."

"No _maybes_ about it. Dude, that whole scene down here couple weeks ago? You know you don't like scenes."

"No," Andy confirmed, and there was something warm in his voice, an amused affection. "I hate scenes."

"So, I don't know what you were even _thinking_. That, and the whole bursting into tears thing. Although, you have to admit, you're a huge dick, you made her cry like all the time. You made _me_ want to cry, the shit you said to her sometimes."

"You know I--"

"You don't like the crying thing, yeah, yeah. Just because someone cries, though, doesn't mean that there's something weak about them, I keep telling you that."

There was a grudging silence over the line, before Andy returned with, "Except, Phillipa would bring out the tears if she didn't get her own way. That's fucked up."

Matt rolled his eyes, going to the cupboard to see if he had any sugar. Ryan had the hugest sweet tooth, and insisted on attempting to bake something quite regularly. It was always a disaster on a monumental scale. The Fire Department was called out to Fuck City once, that time had been _awesome_.

"I bet she wouldn't have done it like that, if you weren't a constant asshole who wouldn't give a fucking inch. Honestly, sometimes? You need to let people in a little."

"I let _you_ in," Andy grumbled and Matt poked at a mysterious silvery package on the lowest shelf in the fridge; he didn't know what the fuck was even _in_ that thing.

"Dude, someone who will give you sex. And maybe some regular affection and support, that's what I'm talking about. And sex, don't forget the sex."

There was another considering silence. "Oh, well," was Andy's response, which was his way of saying something when he really wanted to say something else.

"Oh well _what_ ," Matt pressed, and he could hear Patrick in the background, warming up with some rollicking oldie, and Joe exclaiming over something while someone, maybe one of their massive bodyguards, laughed in a booming, thunderous manner.

"Oh well _nothing_ ," Andy replied blandly, which really meant, _I'm not going to tell you shit right now, so back off_.

Matt shrugged, and changed the topic.

*

Thing was, and Matt told him all the time, that Hurley could be a little cold. It wasn't as if he wasn't an okay guy; he'd been worse as a teenager, when Matt had first met him. For lack of a better word, Andy had been _imbalanced_ , angry at the sky and the ground and everything in between. He'd always been one tough little fucker, though, scrappy dude that had a smart answer for everything. He still had that sharp way about him, though Matt was pleased that he'd mellowed a bit over the years.

Another thing was, Matt thought that maybe he set his standards far too high.

 _that's not a valid point_ , Andy had argued with Matt when he had pointed this out as they were IM-ing each other; it had been extremely late in the night where Andy was, and even though he liked to get a good night's sleep, they'd been at this for about an hour or so. _that doesn't even make any SENSE. I know what I want and how I want it to be. If people can't deal with that, then they JUST DON’T DEAL._

 _see, this is why you're going to be fucking old and alone_ , Matt fired back, _a relationship isn't like a business arrangement, take it or leave it shit, you're dealing with another person who has their own hang-ups, just like you do. I know you go around thinking you're perfect, but you're not._

 _i don’t think that, fuck off._

 _you sure as fuck do_. Matt had actually glared at the screen and he knew that thousands of miles away, Andy was doing the exact same thing. _you're my best friend, but that doesn't make me blind to your faults._

 _oh, are we talking faults now?_ Andy was gathering all his ammunition, ready to poke devastating holes in Matt's defense. Matt rolled his eyes. _let's talk faults, mixon. how about you going through approximately one relationship per week. MY standards are too high? I'm thinking all YOUR standards are too low._

 _maybe they are_ , Matt admitted easily and that was one big difference between them. While Andy could argue for days about something, Matt could just give in, just for the sake of saving time and his blood-pressure. _but this isn't about me. this is about you._

 _this IS about you_ , Andy had typed and there had been an overly long pause, even when Matt had continuously buzzed him back with _what? what the hell are you talking about? hurley? hey man, you there?_

Eventually, he had come back with, _yeah, i'm here. gonna go, though, we have an early call tomorrow._

And he'd been off before Matt could say _later, man_. Matt had frowned at the screen again, trying to remember just how the whole argument had all started; he couldn't remember and it bugged him so much that he had a hard time falling asleep. Well, a hard time for about fourteen seconds, and then he'd let it roll off his head and had dropped off.

*

So he didn't remember how that particular disagreement had begun, but he knew that when Andy came back from that particular tour, he was more reclusive than usual. Normally, when he came home, he spent about three or four days just zoning out, trying to get his whole body out of the rhythm of touring and back into the relaxed groove of the house. Then, he'd get cheerfully crazy, taking on any challenge anyone threw his way. If Matt really thought about it, he'd have to wonder why Hurley could be so formal with his girlfriends, and yet so outrageous with him.

This time, a week had gone by with Andy barely leaving his room, just wandering out for meals and slipping back; when Ryan finally sang out in the kitchen, "Oh wow, Hurley's gone emo. The horror! The _pain_ ," Matt decided to take matters into his own hands. A friend of his mother's had sent some cookies about two days ago, and had thoughtfully made them so Andy could eat them too.

"I didn’t use much sugar, but there is molasses in them," she had told Matt over the phone as he had nibbled on one, humming at the taste, "and I used this egg replacement thing, but it tastes fine, right? Think your friend will like them?"

"So sorry," Matt had mumbled through his mouthful of cookie. "I don't think that my friend will even _see_ these, much less taste them."

He'd saved about four, though, and these he put on a plate, fending off Kyle's sneaky attacks. Armed with a glass of soy-milk, he marched upstairs and kicked open Andy's door.

Andy was sitting right up against the bed-head, knees drawn up as he spoke on his cell-phone. His gaze flickered to Matt as he came in and remained fixed on him, even when Matt put down the plate and glass on the desk in the corner, then flopped down unceremoniously at the foot of Andy's bed.

Andy gave him a small smile, and pulled a pillow from the mound at his back, passing it down, his clear gaze locked with Matt's even as he spoke on the phone.

"No," he was saying to the person on the other end; Matt wondered who it was. "Well... _not_ no, I've been in something like this before... but not _like this_."

He listened as the person spoke, nodding. Matt snuggled the pillow he'd been given and felt Andy's foot pressing against his knee. _Cookie?_ he mouthed and Andy shook his head, mouthing back, _not right now_.

"I don't know, I seriously doubt it," Andy said crisply into his phone and then frowned. He sighed, and then tilted back his head to rest against the bed-head, closing his eyes. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean anything."

"Who are you talking to?" Matt cut in, curiosity overwhelming him. Andy quirked an eyebrow, but smiled.

"Patrick," he replied, and then moved the mouthpiece a little from his ear. "Patrick says hey."

"Oh, hey!" Matt yelled and he could hear Patrick's enthusiastic, albeit tinny response, laughing even more when Andy held the entire phone from his ear, wrinkling his nose.

"Anyway," Andy said to Patrick dryly when all the greetings were finished. "So, all I can do is give it a try. It won't be a big deal if it doesn't pan out, I guess," but Matt could see the expression in his eyes, and whatever it was, Andy _wanted_ it to pan out really badly and it would hurt him if it didn't. Matt also felt a little put out; what was it that Andy had to confide in _Patrick_? Not that Patrick wasn't a great guy and one of Andy's closest friends, but still.

So, as soon as Andy ended the call, Matt pounced. "What was that all about?"

"What kind of cookies are those?" Andy sidestepped neatly, and Matt grabbed his ankle as he tried to move off the bed. " _Matt_."

"Andy." Matt mimicked his scrunched-up face and tugged his ankle. "Come on, you know I'll pester you until you break down, tell me."

"I was asking him about that thing he had, with Pete." Andy finally managed to yank his ankle out of Matt's grasp and swing his feet over the side of the bed, padding over to the desk.

The Thing, Matt mused, the Pete-and-Patrick Thing, that beautiful disaster that lasted in a definite form for about six months, and might have continued on in some other vague manner, no one was really sure. All Matt knew was there had been a Thing, instigated by _Patrick_ , of all people; apparently, Pete had been fearful that the Thing would have destroyed the band. The Thing had simultaneously made them and broke them; Matt hadn't seen anything so spectacular before or since.

And yet, they were still friends; _best_ friends, from the way they put it. It would have been enough to drive Matt up the wall, if he'd been in that position; and yeah, he actually thought about things like that, but didn't everybody?

He rolled over to his other side, watching Andy choose a cookie and take a bite.

"What did you want to know about The Thing?"

Andy shrugged, reaching for the glass and taking a slow sip. Matt went still, waiting. There were certain tricks that could be done around an Andy who was unwilling to give up information. There was the old Walk Away, where Matt just walked away from the topic and sneaked back to it later, when Andy's hackles were down. Then there was the Play Dead, where Matt went as still as he could, just letting his whole body slump into any surface. This one played on Andy's innate concern for his friends; for some strange reason he just hated seeing any of them so still. Anytime any one of them felt like sitting around the house and looking sorrowful, Andy would sidle up and ask them what was wrong with their stupid face.

Matt guessed that they all did it, living together for so long, concerned in the way any family would be; but he'd always thought that Andy's disquiet was the cutest. And his little trick worked quite well, for Andy looked around on cue and frowned.

"What's with you?" he demanded, and took another cookie. Matt sighed as despondently as he could and Andy rolled his eyes. "Come on. I was just asking him why he got into that."

"Got into what... oh, The Thing? What was the answer?"

Andy looked at him for a very long time, finishing his cookie as he did so, brushing the crumbs off the desk and into the small waste-paper basket. He drank some of the milk, left about half in the glass and brought it over with the last two cookies.

"He said, 'it just felt right at the time'," Andy explained and held out the plate with a small, secretive smile, a mere curve of his lips. Matt blinked up at him, feeling surprise flow through him. Andy was militant about people eating in his bed; any friend could bounce around as much as they wanted to, as long as they left the place just the way they found it and _not_ eat in his bed. So Matt took one of the offered treats out of the plate with much misgiving, feeling like a spy who has been told by his captors to run for the border.

"Milk?" Andy said with that same smile and Matt took it, now squinting suspiciously. "What?"

"Are you ok?" Matt asked, but he drank the rest of the soymilk anyway, licking at the corner of his mouth when he was finished. "I mean, I'm getting crumbs and stuff on your bed."

"You know what?" Andy took back the empty glass and went to the door. "You can do anything on my bed, anytime."

" _What_?" Matt was saying, feeling as if someone took him up and turned him upside down, but Andy was already through the door.

*

Matt's been friends with Andy for more than ten years, probably close to fourteen or fifteen. He can say that he is one of the very few of Andy's friends, if not the _only_ one, who knows what a _drunken_ Andy was like, when they were just teenagers and Andy was on a very fixed path of self-destruction, going about it in his particular systematic manner.

As a matter of fact, when they had been younger, Andy had been this surly kid who snarled in Matt's direction, every time they stumbled over each other at some loud concert in some grimy auditorium or hall. They were far too young to be even within a forty foot perimeter at these events, but Matt had been really adept at slipping out of his house and Andy just didn't give a fuck at the time about what his mother said.

Andy didn't have the long hair then, but he had that same intensity and Matt had decided to brave his nasty glares the fourth time he saw Andy drinking.

"How old are you, anyway?" he'd asked afterwards, standing in front of Andy as he sat on an overturned crate in an alleyway. An older kid had passed Andy a bottle in a paper-bag and stumbled off in the direction of the hall's back-entry, leaving them alone.

"Why?" Andy snapped and then took a swig, still managing to glare at Matt as he drank. He stopped after a few long gulps, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "What are you, the age-police?"

Matt stuck his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket and gave him a long stare. Andy looked right back, defiantly.

"You're awesome at the drums, man," Matt finally said, in his most sincere voice. His mother had always told him that _that_ was how Matt was going to get through life: he could be very charming when he wanted to be.

Andy actually blinked up at him, and it would be the very first and one of the very rare times that Matt would leave him completely speechless. "What?" he finally croaked out and Matt just nodded.

"Yeah, you're crazy, man." He tilted his head, looking down at this little pale dude with the furious eyes and the closely cropped red-brown hair. "And you're crazy all on your own, you don't need _that_." He jerked his chin towards the paper-bag clutched in Andy's fist.

Andy summoned a very contemptuous glare. "You wouldn't know _anything_ about what I need, so you can take your little after-school special and fuck off," he said and looked pointedly at Matt's clothing, the new jacket and jeans that his mother had bought for him last week. Andy's own jacket looked about two sizes too large for him, and his jeans were frayed at the ankles.

Matt had felt a strange rush of guilt; then he squared his shoulders and got over it, determined in his own way. "Maybe I don't. All I'm saying, is that I think you're more than that."

Andy had snorted at this, shaking his head and taking another swig; but instead of looking at Matt's face as he did so, his eyes had fixed on the black X's on Matt's hands.

The next time Matt saw him at some K of C hall, he hadn't been drinking, but he still glowered at Matt, who just grinned back.

It hadn't been easy being friends with him, at first, but for some reason, Matt had tried hard. And when Andy found out that Matt wasn't backing off, not at all, it became so much easier. He'd grudgingly given in and Matt found out that once Andy considered a person a friend, there was no looking back. For Andy, there were only family and close friends, which were basically the same thing in his head, and then maybe colleagues after that. _Far_ after that.

So they'd been friends since they were kids. Andy bristled anytime someone even _looked_ at Matt askew or made some remark that struck Andy as _wrong_ ; Matt made sure the stick up in Andy's ass didn't stay there all the time. They'd been friends when most of Andy's other drumming projects came to an end, and he decided to try Wentz's weird new thing for a little bit, nothing hard and fast until Matt convinced him that maybe being comfortable with the band was not a bad deal at all.

They'd been friends when Andy got the call about Island signing said band when they had been driving back from Pete's house and Andy had stopped at the breakdown lane of the I-94 and went "Ok, wow," and Matt offered to take the wheel for the rest of the way home.

They'd been friends when Andy bought the new place and there'd been a hugely strange argument, in which Matt thought he'd stay at the old apartment and Andy said serenely, "No, that's not going to work."

Matt had stared at him. "What, you expect me to move with you from place to place?"

Andy had grinned at him, an easy, happy smile. "I need a housekeeper, or something," he had replied and ducked the box Matt had thrown at him, and as much as it had been a joke _then_ , it was the truth _now_ , mainly because Matt knew just how anal Andy was about a neat house and he really couldn't bother with the all the griping, so he made sure the damned place was clean.

They'd remained friends when Andy became a steadfast vegan and got deeply into being edge, even as Matt moved away from that whole mindset. He'd been present for most of Andy's ink and even laughed at a few, except for those few about his dad.

He knew what kind of girls Andy was into, smart ones just on the edge of crazy and he knew that one time Andy had kissed Pete, just on a bet and only Matt knew that if asked, Andy would have kissed him again.

So he knew Andy, and knew him _really_ well and so this new development with the strange flirting was kind of freaking him out, just a little bit.

*

It was mostly the touching. Andy wasn't a person who usually instigated touching; about a few days after the cookie incident, when they were heading out back to lounge around, his fingers wrapped around Matt's wrist as they were going through the glass-door and didn't let go for a bit, _that_ was a whole lot surprising for Matt. When they were fucking around and taking pictures, of course Andy's arm would be slung around his neck, and Matt would be leaning in just to equalize the height difference, but the wrist-thing felt _miles_ different.

It was the wrist thing and Andy's palm at the small of his back whenever he happened to be going upstairs and Andy was trailing behind him, yakking about something; it was Andy sitting close when they were watching National Geographic, his head not exactly on Matt's shoulder but inclined in his direction as he leaned his head against the back of the sofa.

It was a combination of all these things and other little different actions that gave Matt pause. He was unsure as yet about what it all _meant_ , and from the way Ryan, Kyle and Stu gave them curious looks, they were obviously wondering as well.

Like when Hurley had positioned himself close to Matt as they stood in the kitchen; Matt was tearing leaves from a head of lettuce and slicing some large tomatoes to put on the veggie-burgers. Andy was actually standing in that awkward way he had, hip jutting out and pressing against the side of Matt's leg as he rambled on one long story about a caged animal he'd seen in the foyer of some hotel. Stu wandered in for some lighter fluid for the grill, gave them a questioning glance and wandered out again.

Matt put down his knife, turned to look down at Andy and said, "Ok, _what_?"

"What?" Andy stared up at him, puzzlement in his eyes, but Matt could see that there was something else there, a kind of apprehension. This alone made him frown and Andy's expression began to close up, and he pulled away a bit. "What?" he repeated in his quiet voice, the one he used when he actually spoke up during interviews; _that_ voice was rarely used in their home. He was loud and brash here, laughing loudly, and Matt just hated seeing him so low-keyed, so he simply responded, "What, I can't be random sometimes?" and grinned as sincerely as he could, going back to his vegetables.

"Right," Andy said dryly and Matt breathed out, relieved and imbalanced at the same time, as Andy's hip went back to its prior position, and Andy launched into another long spiel about some whole-wheat crackers they'd had in London that Joe said tasted like flavoured newspaper.

*

Also, the thing was, Andy was always nice to him. That was one thing people couldn't look at him and see, that he was the kind of person that liked giving, a lot. Matt had an idea that people thought he was some kind of miserable hermit, from the way he spoke and acted on-stage (or didn't), but that was mostly because he liked having his personal life extremely private. Otherwise, and Matt was probably biased anyway, but Andy could actually be one kind little dude... at least one who would give as much as he could for his friends.

That was a problem, at least now. Matt wasn't stupid and he knew Andy too well to be in the dark for too long. After watching him for a bit and comparing how he was acting _now_ , to how he usually carried on when he was around some girl he really liked, Matt had come to what seemed to be a pretty firm conclusion.

So now, whenever Andy gave him half the sandwich he was eating, or made sure to carry a blanket for him whenever he crashed on the sofa, too wiped out from the bar to even climb the stairs, it set Matt to wondering if it was just Andy being Andy or Andy being _something else_ ; and since Matt didn't like wondering for too long, he just came right out and asked.

*

Actually, he asked Andy when he was half-asleep. Which was, quite honestly, the best time for Matt to ask him something.

"Hurley?" He peered into Andy's room late that night, the soft glow of the reading lamp spilling onto the bed. Andy was reclining against his pillows, eyes closed, one of his graphic novels open on his chest while his glasses were discarded at his elbow. His face was turned towards the door as if he had been expecting Matt and dozed off in the middle of waiting. "Hey. You."

Andy's eyebrows twitched, pulling together into a slight frown before he opened his eyes. For a moment, he just stared at Matt hovering in his doorway. His expression was that of a person who felt he was still in some lovely dream, soft and open and strange on Andy's normally taciturn face.

"Yeah?" he finally replied in a sleep-roughened voice. "Want something?"

"Yeah, it's just something I want to--"

"Could you not stand there like some Avon lady?" One corner of Andy's mouth curled up in slow affection. "Come on, I'm not going to make you pay to get on the bed."

Matt hesitated and then went in, closing the door behind him. He crossed over to Andy's bed, crawling in as Andy shifted to make more space and resting with uncharacteristic tentativeness against the pillows. He reached out and plucked the glasses from between them, putting it on top of the night-table on his side.

"Oh, thanks," Andy said in a small, drowsy voice and closed his eyes again. He still looked a bit tired, Matt observed, his face looking a little too thin. His hair looked as if he had just washed it and whoa, _whoa_ , what the hell was Matt _doing_ , checking out Andy's hair?

"Dude," he started a little desperately and Andy blinked his eyes open, now looking a little annoyed; _annoyed_ was something Matt could deal with, he could deal with that just fine. "Look, I just want to ask you.... something."

"Ask." Andy sounded exasperated and amused all at once. He sighed and shifted, wriggling his fingers in a quick, almost reflexive motion. "It's kind of late, so. You know, get on with it."

"Are you... yeah, I think you're giving me a vibe. Yeah, ok, not just _a_ vibe, _the_ vibe."

Andy gazed at him for a very long moment and Matt stared back as evenly as he could.

Andy finally broke the silence. "That's not a question."

" _Andy_ ," Matt warned and Andy looked mulish all of a sudden.

"So." His tone became frosty and Matt _hated_ when he pulled out that cold voice; it was the voice he used when he just didn't want to deal as yet, and was hoping that the chill would put off anyone trying to tunnel too close. "What makes you think I'm giving off the vibe, to you? By the way, who the hell came up with that anyway, that whole vibe thing?"

"Stu." Matt was not about to be distracted. "And I've known you forever, man. Give me some credit."

Andy's mouth was a line stretched tight in his face and all traces of sleep had fled from his face; instead, his eyes were solemn and if that was some kind of _fearful_ in Andy's face, Matt would eat his favourite hoodie, because he never knew Andy could do scared.

Matt leaned towards him, filled with concern. "Hey, look, I--" and Andy came up on his elbows, and kissed him.

Matt froze. Andy's lips were dry and warm against his; it wasn't even a proper kiss, it was just lips meeting lips and Andy's shaky exhales skating over the curve of his cheek.

Matt was a massive fan of kissing, which probably why he relaxed a little and parted his lips after a few beats, Andy following suit. Matt tilted his head without thought so that Andy's mouth slanted neatly with his. Andy shifted even closer and Matt felt a light touch where his neck sloped to shoulder, the warmth of questioning fingers seeping through his t-shirt and settling against his skin.

Andy made a low hum, _hmm_ , and his tongue slid carefully into Matt's mouth. His hand moved around to the back of Matt's neck, his hold becoming firm and his kiss more insistent, coaxing Matt along with sly licks. He pressed even closer and the hot, hard line of his cock against Matt's thigh was what snapped Matt back to his senses, and when he tore his mouth away from Andy's, he realized that he was clutching Andy's upper-arm far too tightly... and he was just as hard.

Andy tried to reclaim his mouth but Matt turned his face away, taking a huge breath.

"I... we can't."

Andy's arm was tense in his grip. "We were," he said hollowly and pulled away, thumping his head back on his pillows with a huge sigh. "Look, don't do shit like that again." He turned onto his side, back to Matt, who narrowed his eyes at the sneering tattoo now facing him.

"Don't do shit like _what_?"

"Give me something and then take it away," Andy snapped and Matt felt the sudden urge to grab him and pull him around and maybe shake him until his teeth rattled.

"Wait, wait," he began, slow so that his temper wouldn't boil over and obscure the real issue. "First, you spend all this time carefully freaking me out and then when you pop a kiss on me, you expect me to be suddenly okay with it?"

"Hold on." Andy twisted to look at him, his eyes scornful. "Don't act as if I was the only one getting into it, Matt."

"I don't make a habit of making out with my best friends," Matt said stiffly. "I know you hang around Wentz a lot, but don't project your weirdness on me."

Andy spun around so violently that the bed shook and Matt didn't even have time to recoil before Andy's arm was slung again around his neck, pulling him close once more; Matt grabbed onto Andy's hip to steady himself.

"It's not weird," Andy muttered right against his mouth, "if it feels right." He released Matt and actually shoved him away, rolling over and getting out of bed. Matt watched him as he went out, closing the door to his own room very carefully.

Matt rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, and tried hard to not think about what just happened. Instead, he pondered vaguely if it would be good manners to jerk off in Andy's bed... and that thought shouldn’t have made him _harder_ , damnit.

*

Matt woke up to the sound of Andy pulling open the folding doors to his closet. He had fallen asleep in Andy's bed, and Andy had covered him in the night with the scratchy blue blanket.

"Morning," he said a bit uncertainly, but Andy turned and gave him a fairly normal glance. He was dressed in running gear, one black sneaker on.

"Morning."

"You want company?" Matt threw the blanket off and stretched. Andy shook his head, holding onto the narrow louvered door and toeing off the sneaker with his other foot.

"No, I went and came back already." Andy pulled off the black t-shirt and hung it over the door, pulling out another black one. Matt always teased him about having about a billion black shirts hanging in his closet; Andy even arranged them by varying shade, just for a laugh.

"Oh." Matt scratched at his cheek, light stubble rasping against his fingers; he felt a little out of sorts. "About last night--"

"No, we're not having the _last night_ conversation." Andy went over to the tall chest of drawers that he'd pestered Matt to repaint for him when he had dragged it out of some dump. "It's too early for that. It was just a fluke or something. Sorry."

Matt frowned. "No, it wasn't a fluke. And what are you apologizing for?"

"So you can stop freaking out and _relax_ ," Andy said with a long-suffering sigh and Matt spent about ten seconds just _boggling_ at him. Andy slanted him a look out of the corner of his eye as he pulled open a drawer, the third one down that _still_ squeaked and suddenly, Matt burst out into cascades of hoarse, disbelieving laughter.

"Oh, jeez," he managed as he held onto his side. "Ah fuck, Andrew Hurley is telling _me_ to relax. It's like opposite day, or something."

Andy smiled. It was a wide one, his Fuck City smile, the one that said that everything was going to be A-ok.

"We're... we're good, right?" Matt asked through aftershocks of chuckles.

"Sure," Andy replied easily and actually dropped Matt a wink. "We're always good."

*

Yeah, they were totally good.

The touching stopped almost completely, though, and Matt didn't think it would be a good idea to go back to Andy and explain that, "Hey, dude, about that whole touching? I kind of liked it, so... you know." Maybe Hurley would kick him if he went and said something like that _now_ , after his very own version of a mini-meltdown after that kiss; and it had been a pretty nice kiss, too. Not too much pressure, just the right amount of searching tongue.

They were completely cool for nearly a couple weeks after, when Andy had to go down to Chicago for a secret show and Matt tagged along merrily, driving nearly all the way. It was supposed to be some awesome fun; Ryan, Kyle and Stu had a couple days on the road, maybe a week, so it was just the two of them rolling stones and gathering no moss, as they say.

And they were mostly good, after the show. Mostly.

Kind of.

*

He figured it, whatever _it_ was, started from a little after they performed and when they were coming off-stage and slipping into the narrow back passage-way, Matt watched with a surprising amount of suspicion as Patrick snagged onto Andy's arm, taking him out of the way and talking to him with raised eyebrows and a low voice.

Andy smiled and shrugged at him, punching Patrick on the shoulder lightly. Then, because Matt had a fresh towel for him and Andy hadn't seen him as yet, Andy leaned forward and wiped his face right on Patrick's shoulder.

Patrick shoved him away, laughing and grimacing and the two of them had the lamest mock-fight in the middle of the corridor. Pete pushed at the both of them as he passed, smiling in his too-wide manner; but there was something hard behind it as he watched Patrick and Andy grinning at each other, something that Matt suddenly felt he could relate to.

Weird; but not as weird as the coolness that came over him when Andy spotted him and trotted over, waving his palm right in Matt's face even as he pulled the extra towel from Matt's shoulder with his other hand, pressing his face in it and groaning happily.

Matt grabbed his wrist and narrowed his eyes at the black scribbling in the middle of Andy's palm.

"I don't know if that's a one or a seven." Andy raised his head and gave him a tiny grin.

"It's a seven." Matt felt that his responding smile probably looked more like a wretched grimace. "So, how'd you get... who's this, _Chloe's_ number so fast?"

"The way of the ninja," Andy said solemnly, his eyes twinkling, and that was the _right_ answer, that's how he _always_ answered when it came to these things and Matt just wanted to punch him in the mouth, a very sudden and strong impulse. Andy blinked up at him, as if he had said this very thought aloud. He looked pointedly at Matt's fingers still clamped around his wrist and then flicked his gaze back to Matt, eyes searching.

"Oh, sorry, man," Matt muttered, peeling his fingers away. "The way of the ninja is mighty," he intoned, but it came out a little too flat. Andy licked his lips and parted them to say something, then closed his mouth again.

"What?" Matt hated the way his voice came out all testy, like he was getting ready for a fight. Andy gave him a cool, weighing stare.

"Nothing," he snapped and brushed past Matt on his way to the dressing room and apparently, they weren't totally cool after all.

Matt knew the best way to deal with Andy's anger was to gently rib him about something, maybe give him a mocking joke or, if times were desperate, rile him up on some rant just to laugh at him and invariably make him laugh as well. Thing was, _Matt_ was the one driving home with his jaw clenched and his eyes doggedly fixed on the road, the oncoming headlights painting bright swaths over the interior of the car, highlighting Andy's pale face in the corner of his eye.

"We could have stayed in Patrick's guest room," Andy pointed out with a wide yawn. "Want me to drive?"

"It's fine, I'll manage."

Andy sighed. "I'm dozing for a bit. When you're done with your weird little mood, wake me up."

 _What weird little mood_ , Matt wanted to ask, but a part of himself, the part that was fairly practical and mostly honest, went, _oh, for fuck's sake, man. Open your eyes and stop wimping out. Just stop_.

 _It's a lot to be realizing in one go_ , Matt argued, listening with half an ear to Andy's slow breathing. _I mean, you just don't wake up one day and notice that your best friend is maybe just the right fit, after he kisses you. Stress on the 'he'._

 _Shit like this doesn't happen in one day, you just have to take your time. Also, you're having a serious conversation with yourself, I'm not sure if this is a good thing._

He felt like stopping the car and jostling Andy awake and asking a whole bunch of questions, but he kept his mouth shut. He just mulled over things in his head, keeping quiet even as he pulled into their driveway ( _their_ driveway, that was pretty telling right there) and he came out of the car and went around it to open Andy's door. He pressed his hand to Andy's shoulder, finally shaking him a little.

"We're home."

"Yeah?" Andy's voice was thick with sleep and he swung his legs out, standing up out of the car. He stumbled a little, the laces on his sneakers trailing on the concrete of the driveway and Matt put an arm around his waist, helping him all the way inside despite Andy's grumbles, closing the door to the night and snapping on the hall-light.

"I'm fine, I'm not--" Andy broke off and gazed up at him as Matt kind of propped him against the surface of the front door and braced his hands on either side of his head. They stared at each other, and Matt took the time to _really_ look at him, to finally figure out if he wanted this or not. Firming his resolve, he put a hand behind Andy's neck, tugging him forward a little. Andy's eyes widened behind his glasses.

"Tell me if this works for you," Matt muttered with a sudden desperate hope that he wasn't even _aware_ that he had and he bent to press his mouth to Andy's.

Andy didn't kiss him back.

At least, not for about five seconds; in that time, Andy seemed about as responsive as a statue, his mouth a rigid line against Matt's. Then, it seemed Andy flared to life, seizing the front of Matt's shirt and pressing against him fully. Andy's mouth moved urgently against his, taking and giving with that particular tenacity he had.

"Maybe you've realized by now," Andy said fiercely when he broke away for air and Matt found that one of his hands was gripping a secure handful of Andy's hair. "If you haven't, because I know you're pretty dense sometimes, but this is _just fine_ with me."

"I don’t know," Matt admitted through their kisses as Andy walked him backwards, barely giving him a chance to talk. "It's not... it's not like I know what to do, this is like... oh, ok, this is good."

Andy had pushed him back over the arm of the sofa, surprisingly strong for such a tiny dude. He crawled over Matt's long legs and settled against him, looking in his face with a warm, exasperated expression before kissing him again, deep and searching.

"Done freaking out?" Andy asked him between one kiss and the next, laughing against Matt's mouth when he tried to answer.

"I dunno. Look, it's kind of weird to be on this end of your attention," Matt pointed out when they finally parted, panting a little and shifting so that Andy rested between his legs more comfortably. "It's kind of... intense. Even when you don't think about it, it's _intense_."

"I've heard that before." Andy looked like he wanted to be kissed again, so Matt obliged him, feeling extremely strange and very at ease at the same time. "I don't want you to freak out on me again," he muttered. "It doesn't have to be a big deal. I mean, it can be, if you want. It's just... me and you, like always. That's all." He closed his eyes and opened them again, as if making sure Matt would still be there, and smiling almost in relief. "It'll work. Just you and me."

"Yeah?"

"Of course. Relax, Mixon. I'm not going to assault you." He grinned slyly and Matt _liked_ seeing him smile like that. "At least, not until you're ready. Just relax."

"Dude, I am, jeez." He peered up at Andy and then smiled. "Just don't make me cry. You make me cry, I kick your ass and then Pete's gonna be pissed at the lack of a drummer. I mean it."

Andy simply stared at him for a long moment, and then raised his hand, the one with the number scribbled in it. He took one of Matt's hands and put the thumb of it in his mouth, sucking and smiling around it at Matt's sharp inhale. He removed it so that he could use it to rub at the ink in his palm. Matt helped, probably being a little too enthusiastic about it, obliterating the writing as much as he could.

"Okay, so we're cool," Matt said, grinning as he watched the number disappear.

"We're cool," Andy confirmed, and Matt laughed as he kissed him again.


End file.
